


Training Up the Boss

by LittleMousling



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Harassment roleplay, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: Employee seduces employer. Employee suborns employer into harassment roleplay after hours at the office.





	Training Up the Boss

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Write something out of annoyance at The Discourse? I would never.
> 
> This bit and its surrounding scene were left on the editing floor but it’s probably still the best alternative summary:  
>    
>  _"Guys," Priyanka calls back to them. "I'm not gonna spit-roast myself. You can pat yourselves on the back about being good feminists later."_

It took Priyanka much longer than she’d expected to convince Tommy to fuck her. That, however, pales in comparison to the time and effort required to get him to fuck her the way she likes it.

"Mr. Vietor, do I have to do this to keep my job?" She furrows her brows, nervous, hands wringing.

He’s already breaking character as he says it. "Ye-yes. Yes. You, um, do have to."

She’s almost, but not quite, frustrated enough to groan out loud. She says, instead, "Keep it together, Vietor." 

He tries again. "Yes. It’s a condition of your job! To, ah—"

"Blow you under your desk." It’s late on a Saturday; they’ve snuck back into the empty office for this.

"Yeah. Yes. Listen—" and he’s using his regular voice now, dropping the scene entirely. "Listen, couldn’t I eat you out on my desk? That still seems pretty skeevy. Just, you know … _less_ skeevy." 

"Less skeevy is the opposite of what we’re going for, here," Priyanka reminds him. "Fine. We’ll work up to that one. New scenario." She drags him into the office bathroom. "It's right after lunch. Everyone in the office wants to pee. They all see you follow me in here. You'd better keep me quiet while you get what you want. I'm thinking—hand over the mouth, some light fingering."

"They all see me follow you in here?” Tommy asks, incredulous. "I don't think—"

"Tommy, you are the only guy I’ve ever met who tries to talk himself out of getting laid. It's _fiction_ , it's _fine_ , they all think it's dirty-hot."

He tentatively puts a hand over her mouth, then takes it off. "But if they all don't care, then why do I need to keep you quiet?"

Priyanka tilts her head back against the door and closes her eyes. "Vietor, it's a good thing you're so hot. We're not editing the newsletter, here, we're having filthy sex."

Tommy laughs, leans in and kisses her. "We could have filthy sex at my house, on my bed," he says, voice low and seductive. "Instead of in this tiny bathroom we both hate."

"If you want comfy bed sex, date someone your own age," she tells him. "Now pick me up and put me on the sink and have your damned way with me."

He neither points out that she pursued him nor that it's really very much _her_ way he'll be having. She mentally grants him a gold star on both points.

She does have to grant that guys his age are _very_ good at hand stuff. He may not be exactly killing it on the degrading dirty talk or keeping his hand firmly over her mouth—he definitely isn't trying out any light breathplay stuff even though his hand's plenty big enough to cover her nose _and_ her mouth—but fuck, he's playing her pussy like a fiddle. She hikes a bare foot up on his hip, bracing herself as open as she can easily get on this stupid tiny counter, and then gasps against his palm as he changes speed.

She's—fuck—she's not going to be muffled at all with his hand like this. The whole office is gonna hear her giving it up to the boss. Probably think she's easy for it, that maybe they can have her, too. That's—yeah, that's so fucking good—

Tommy groans when she comes, squeezing down on his fingers, and she likes that about him, how much he gets off on her pleasure. She just needs to get him more on board with the fantasy side of it, but, okay, points to him for being willing to fuck her here at all, she supposes. They could absolutely get caught—and that thought has her winding up again, grinding against his hand. He hasn't let up, because he likes to wear her out. Maybe likes to feel like the kind of guy who can give a girl a bunch of orgasms, maybe it's not so noble, but she'll take it, anyway. She'll—

"It would really, you know, it would really draw some attention if I ate you out," Tommy says, licking his lips, hand dropping off her mouth. "If you, if we walked out of here and your, um, if it was all over my face."

"Good instinct, Vietor. Lean into that," she says, and bites down on her own hand when he drops into a crouch in front of her.

Tommy won’t tell her what secret filthy things he’s into—well, he claims not to have any, but she wasn’t born yesterday. His love of eating her pussy at least gives her good opportunities to try to find his secret triggers, dirty-talking to him. 

Tonight, she thinks, is a good time to roll out one of the ones she’s been hoping is his secret spank-bank material. “Favreau’s out there, listening,” she says, and that does get a reaction, Tommy starting to pull off of her until she gets a hand in his hair and urges him back down. 

"You've told him what a slut I am," she says, and he makes an objecting noise, but keeps licking her. "You've told him how desperate I get for your cock—"

He breaks, pushing back and staring up at her, distraught. "I would _never_ —" 

She puts two fingers in his mouth to quiet him. “Yes. Tommy. I know. If I thought you would, I wouldn’t be trusting you with my fantasies, right?” They’ve had this conversation more than a few times. He nods, looking a little embarrassed now to have interrupted.

"Someday," she tells him, very seriously, "all of my topping from the bottom is going to pay off. I can tell. You're gonna just lean into it, and on that day, we are going to have a grand old time, Tommy."

***

That Day turns out to be solidly three months in the making, well after they’ve moved into the new office. She thinks it's probably because he's such a relationship guy. He needs to feel settled, to have a spare toothbrush in his house for her.

 _That's_ when Dirty Tommy starts to really show up to the game.

"Okay," he says, when she gives him some ideas for what she wants when they come back to the office tonight. Nothing about inconsistencies; nothing about how much he respects her. Honestly, Priyanka's getting wet just from how calm he was.

She's right to think something's clicking into place. Once they're in his office, he spins her up against the windows, thighs on his waist and back on the glass. They've left the lights off; probably no one can see her, but held like this, when she glances down, the height makes her dizzy. "Suppose I fuck you just like this?" Tommy says, and she gulps.

"I'm afraid of heights." She puts a waver into her voice. It's not hard; she doesn't much care about heights but this is legitimately thrilling, more than she'd expected it to be. "Please, I'll—anywhere else, I'll still let you—"

"Mm," Tommy interrupts. He noses up the line of her throat, breathing heavily on her. It's pervy; she likes it. "No. No, I want you right here, right like this."

Priyanka squirms, trying to get out of his grip, and he shoves her against the glass. It doesn't rattle, but it's still—wow. Yeah. She's breathing shallowly already, heart starting to race. _This_ is what she's been wanting.

This, and he's still going. He slides a hand up to her throat, pins her—gently but unmistakably—to the glass. "You're staying right here until I'm done with you."

"Yessir," Priyanka gets out, slurring it because he gets so squirrelly about being called anything more formal than his name. He doesn't object this time; he hoists her ass up higher with one hand and presses just a little harder with the other, so she can feel it every time she tries to swallow.

"Anywhere I want to put you, you're going to get put there," Tommy tells her. "And there's nothing you can do about it, is there?"

She tries to shake her head, and he moves his hand into her hair, yanks her head back that way. "Out loud."

"No—there's—anywhere you put me," Priyanka says, gasping for air. She's starting to really feel it, her whole body focused on what Tommy might do next. On not being able to stop him. This is what she's been wanting for months, for this to feel real, and now it does and it's exhilarating and terrifying and she's so ready to just fall into it.

She shuts her eyes, slows down her breathing. Tommy hasn't said anything else, so she tries again. "I'll stay anywhere you put me."

"Good girl," he tells her, and yanks her hair harder, like it's a reward instead of a punishment. It fucking is, too, just the right kind of arousing pain, making Priyanka suddenly aware of how wet she is. Maybe Tommy knows it, too, her scent starting to fill the air, because he shoves his hips into hers, cock grinding against her. "I could turn the light on. Half of LA could watch you up here, begging for it. Like a—" His voice falters, just for a second, and then he manages it "— _slut_."

Priyanka moans, can't help herself, can't keep quiet. Can't help but shift her hips up into his with what little leverage she has.

"But you'd like that too much, wouldn't you?" Tommy asks. It's definitely rhetorical. "If I turned the light on, everyone would want a go, and you'd let them, just like you're letting me. You'd be so busy taking cock you'd still be here in the morning when everyone came in to work."

Priyanka can't nod, with her hair in his fist. She whimpers, instead.

"So I think I'll keep you to myself ... this time." He suddenly drops her, both hands letting go at once and stepping back; she lands hard on her ass and starts to scramble to her feet before he leans in and stops her. "You're so eager, aren't you?" She's on her hands and knees on the carpet and Tommy's got her by the hair again and she's not sure she's been this turned on in her whole fucking life. Her pussy's got a stronger heartbeat right now than her chest, she thinks; it's pulsing and needy and she'll do anything, right now. Anything Tommy tells her.

"I knew you wanted it," he says. His voice shakes, a little, and he stops and clears his throat, but he keeps going. Priyanka thinks, _I may have to make sure_ he _gets aftercare later_ , and then she's just listening, focusing, because he's saying a million pretty things. "The way you walked around the office shaking your ass in those tight jeans. You knew what you were doing. You wanted me to—" He pauses again, then barrels through. "Wanted me to fuck you, didn't you?"

She can help him; she gasps, "Yes." She wants to say _no_ , sometime, to play with that, but not tonight. Tommy needs a yes tonight.

It works. Tommy's voice gets firm again, certain. "Yeah. Yeah, you wanted me. Not just me, is it? You'd bend over a desk for any man in the office. You'd climb under their desks if we didn't keep you on a tight leash."

Priyanka shudders, knows he can feel it. Knows he did it on purpose, that he wanted to make her think about leashes, about thigh cuffs, about all the ways he could tie her up and have his way with her. He's a quick learner. Well, no, he’s taken ages, but he’s certainly got the lessons well in hand tonight.

"So easy for it," Tommy says, and lets go of Priyanka just long enough to open his fly and pull his dick out. He's half-hard, and she sways toward him, wanting to feel him harden up in her mouth. He grabs her jaw, forces her back. "You're such a cockslut," he says, with conviction this time. He pushes a couple of fingers into her mouth, and she shuts her eyes, groans around them. He's forcing her mouth open, keeping his fingers pinned between her back molars so she couldn't shut it if she wanted to.

"You look good like this," Tommy says, and this part seems easy; he meets Priyanka's gaze. "You look so sexy when you want to suck me. Fingers wouldn't be enough for you, would they?"

Priyanka can't easily shake her head; maybe her face gets the point across. "No, you want more."

Tommy pushes his cock into her mouth. She can't do much, with his fingers still holding her open; she can tighten her lips, a little, and move her tongue, a little. Mostly, she's at the mercy of what he wants: this stretch at the corners of her mouth, this press of his cock at the back of her throat.

She'll gag if he pushes it; they both know that. She doesn't know if he will, and the idea that he might is making her blood race. That she can't stop him, on all fours with his fingers and his cock in her mouth. That she's still fully dressed, and she feels completely naked, vulnerable. That this feels dangerous.

"I could put something else here," Tommy says, moving his fingers a little. He's only barely thrusting, small, slow movements in and out. "Pin you open like this to use whenever I want. They make those—they make gags just for this. Could put you in one and, and—"

He pauses, again, but this time—this time Priyanka's fucking sure it's because he's getting into it, not because he's nervous. He's harder, bigger in her mouth, and she knows that tone of voice. "Could bring you to meetings like that. Hand you around, let everyone—" His hand shakes on her neck, and then he's pulling out, dick and fingers both, pulling her forehead onto his thigh. They're both breathing heavily, and Tommy sounds gritty when he says, "Take—take your clothes off. By the window."

Priyanka feels drunk, standing up, enough that she moves slowly so she doesn't fall over. It's not just the blood leaving her brain to engorge her pussy; it's a low-key subspace feeling. She's not all the way there, but she could, maybe. If Tommy keeps this up.

Tommy stops her when she's down to her panties. She feels on display; however much her rational brain knows she can't be seen through the window, her amygdala doesn't agree. It sets her pulse racing again, and maybe Tommy knows, or maybe it's just a coincidence that he says, "Turn around." Either way, it feels impossible. She does it anyway.

He comes in close behind Priyanka, pushes her closer to the window. Bends her forward with a hand on the back of the neck until her cheek, and her tits, are pressed up against it, her ass back against Tommy. "Right there," he says, and curls his hand around again, cupping her throat.

She wants to say _let me go_ , and hear him say, _I thought you liked working here. Maybe I was wrong._ She wants to fight, and make him force her back against the glass. She shuts her eyes, instead, and tries not to be quite as greedy. Tommy's doing incredibly tonight; she's going to fucking enjoy it.

Tommy drops away behind her, his hand trailing down her back until he's breathing on her ass, hands pushing her thighs apart. "You're so fucking wet," he says. "You're wishing everyone could see you, huh? Getting wet enough to take half the cocks in the neighborhood."

"Ye-yeah," Priyanka says, and sinks a little deeper into it. His hands are warm on her thighs, her hips. Peeling her panties down, now, and the whisper of his breath on her almost feels like a caress, she's so sensitive.

Tommy loves to eat her out. Her, specifically, he says, and maybe that's true; maybe he hasn't been this obsessively oral with other girls. "Maybe you just like jailbait pussy," Priyanka told him once; he'd recoiled, and she'd laughed. "You're not _that_ young," he'd retorted, weakly. She'd just smirked at him.

Priyanka's not smirking now. She's pressing back against Tommy's mouth, trying not to lose contact with the glass, where he'd put her. Where she's supposed to stay. It's not as cold on her nipples, now, but it's just as heady, if she opens her eyes to see the long drop stretching out below her.

Tommy's not going easy on her; he's pushing fingers into her and sucking on her clit. It must be awkward at this angle, but she doesn't care; he can flip her, if he wants. He put her here, to scratch futilely at the glass and wish she could grip something, anything. Wish he'd put his warm hands over her tits, instead. Wish he'd hold her throat and fuck into her, make her open her eyes and stare out at the city below.

He does something that _hurts_ —scrapes his teeth over her, maybe, or just sucks too hard—and Priyanka whines, trying to pull away from his mouth. There's a second's pause, and she almost hears "Are you okay?" forming in the air between them—and then he doesn't say it. He yanks her back toward him, instead, fingers vise-tight on her thigh. She'll be bruised tomorrow, maybe. She'll wish she could wear short-shorts and show it off.

Tommy's doing something different with his mouth now, gentler. She wants him back on her clit, but his fingers make up the difference, curling up into Priyanka just where she needs them. She likes being fingered more than being fucked, sometimes, if she's honest. Cocks don't curl like that; they don't move this fast. But there's no beating the psychological aspects of _getting fucked_ , of Tommy shoving up into her, hips slamming into hers. As good as this is, she wants that.

Tommy breaks off, panting, and bites the skin of her inner thigh. She gasps, spreads her legs a little wider. She _is_ a slut for him, she thinks, wildly. She _is_ easy for him, she does—fuck, she does walk around swinging her ass in his face, she's a dirty, desperate—

"I've got to fuck you now," Tommy grinds out, and she loses her train of thought.

"Yessir," she gasps, breath fogging the window, and then Tommy's warm behind her, cotton on her skin. He's still dressed—he's still in a fucking button-down, the buttons cool against her back.

He pushes into her without warning—that's maybe, somehow, the best part yet. That Tommy just fucking goes for it, that he—that Priyanka has to take it, whether she likes it or not. She flashes through a dozen images—this, this is what she thinks about. Blowjob gags are all well and good but she gets off on being _fucked_ by all comers, being spread open and tied up and for the taking. Thigh cuffs, chained to a four-poster, or, or hogtied, or spread out facedown on an ottoman, _Story of O_ -style. Every position, every way a person can be served up. Tommy could put her hands behind her back now—he could tie them back there with his belt, secure her to the door handle and leave her for everyone to find in the morning, ass in the air, his come drying on her thighs.

Tommy tucks his head into her shoulder, speeding up. "So—fucking hot," he says. He's fucking big inside her, and she shoves back into him. He's done this so well, tonight. He tried so hard and he made it so hot and she—after they get off she's going to, to kiss his face and tell him how good he was, and he'll, next time he'll put the cuffs on her and lay her out on the conference table like a sacrifice and—and she'll—

Priyanka comes, groaning through it, guttural and loud against the glass. Tommy's hips stutter, fingers grabbing at her skin. If he had nails to speak of they'd be tearing up her waist. She reaches back for him, digs her own nails into his wrist, and he chokes on thin air, sputters into her neck. He's so close; she can almost taste it. She reaches back farther, yanks his ass up towards her, yanks him into her, and his whole body shakes. It rolls through him; Priyanka feels it in his thighs, between hers, and in his chest against her back, and in his ass under her fingertips. She feels it when he pulls out and come drips out of her, and when he rests his twitching cock against her thigh.

He breathes into her shoulder blade. They're quiet.

Tommy sits back, eventually, and she goes with him, finally away from the cool glass. She's cold, suddenly, wrapping her arms around her body, and Tommy leans in and wraps his around her, too. "You need—I can grab a blanket," he says. "Or your shirt?" Priyanka's top is thin and sleeveless; he's right to be skeptical it could warm her up. His arms are doing the job as much as it can be done right now.

"It's not the actual temperature," Priyanka says. She wishes, suddenly, that they were in a bed, with blankets, where he could cuddle up to her and warm her up.

"Okay. Still. I'll—can you stay here? Just a second." Priyanka nods, and Tommy disappears from behind her. She shifts in place, feeling naked in a whole other way now, but he's back in a flash, pulling her into his lap and wrapping a blanket around them. Tommy scoots them back a couple feet until they've got the desk behind, him leaning into it and her against his chest. Priyanka takes a deep breath, feels better.

She should be—she meant to comfort him, to make him feel good, but it's hitting her harder than she thought it would. She turns sideways and curls up against his chest, knees folded and her arms around them. It had been so good; she wants to tell him how good it was, how exactly what she wanted. She'll find the words in a minute.

Maybe Priyanka's trained Tommy well enough in this respect, too. He pets her hair; he says, "You're so good. You're perfect. You make me feel so good, Pri. You did so well."

She takes deeper breaths, settles against his chest more. Lets her limbs go loose.

"In a little while we'll go back to my place, okay? And tuck you in. Get you some water. I'll make us brunch in the morning, maybe—I'll _order_ us brunch in the morning, anyway. You don't have to do anything, babe, just relax."

Priyanka _is_ relaxing, under the words and the soft sweep of his fingers at her hairline. Tommy's chest is broad against her, and the intensity is starting to drain out of her, leaving her tired and pleased.

She says, voice croaking, "You were good too. Perfect."

Tommy kisses her temple. "Thanks, babe. You're a good teacher." His heartbeat catches under her ear, and then he says, "You're okay?" Priyanka might not know how nervous he is, except that she knows him. Except that she can feel his pulse. Afraid he's fucked up; afraid he went too far.

"More than okay," Priyanka says. "Can we go, now?" She wants to be in a bed. She wants to be in _his_ bed, with his comforting warmth beside her.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Tommy agrees. "I'll drive."

**Author's Note:**

> [Complaints and concerns? Click here](https://www.timesupnow.com/#what-you-can-do-anchor)


End file.
